The Reason
by jenajasper
Summary: Dean never regretted his deal at the crossroads.


He kneeled down, into the mud, and held his brother in his arms under the night sky. Reaching around, to pull him closer, he felt the slick, warm spot on Sam's back. He could almost measure the length of the knife blade into the skin, into his spine. Dean's head was pounding as he screamed his brother's name.

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"Dean!"

He opened his eyes when he heard Bobby's voice. He saw that it was daylight and he's on the side of the road, somewhere, all his weight being supported by the Impala.

He was holding his head, squeezing to keep his brains from spilling out of his skull. It felt like that, the pounding pushing from the inside out.

He answered the older man's questions as best he could. He described the image of the big black bell, like cast iron. The etching of the wide branched and leafy tree, oak, Bobby would later tell him. Dean was afraid and not just because Sam was in that place.

He saw the flashes as bright pictures accompanied by a throbbing with each display. He saw himself, on his knees, gripping Sam by the shoulders. He was talking, babbling, trying to convince his brother, trying to convince them both, that everything would be all right as he felt his brother slump in his arms. And he watched the life drain out of him by way of the thick, blood red, syrup dripping from his lips.

They didn't know how or why but, they now knew where. And they needed to hurry.

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The road had become undrivable. Dean was having difficulty controlling his anxiety. There was still a distance to the town and the thickness of the wooded growth made for slow travel.

Dean's breath came and went in short bursts. He reached one hand around to wipe the sweat from the back of his neck when he felt a slight chill where the night air met the dampness at the edges of his hairline.

He knew there wasn't much time. Sam was in danger and he would be dead or dying if Dean didn't find him soon.

Bobby saw them first, two figures lit by the night sky. Dean screamed his brother's name and he answered. Sam was holding his right arm close to his body and stumbling. He was hurt and Dean feared he was already too late. He ran towards Sam; immediately he saw the flash as the moonlight reflected off the metal. And, just as quickly, it disappeared, as the other man plunged it into Sam's back and Sam fell to his knees.

He kneeled down, into the mud, and held his brother in his arms under the night sky. Reaching around, to pull him closer, he felt the slick, warm spot on Sam's back. He could almost measure the length of the knife blade into the skin, into his spine. Dean's head was pounding as he screamed his brother's name.

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Dean felt light headed and off balanced. His chin tapped his chest as his head fell forward. His shoulders dipped slightly causing the wooden chair to shift beneath him. The sound of it jarred him and he pulled his shoulders back. He jerked his head up and his eyes flew open.

He was indoors, in a dark unfamiliar place. His eyes adjusted quickly and he scanned his surroundings. His whole body softened like melting wax when he saw the cot and the body. The dead body. Sam's dead body.

He was supposed to protect him. He was supposed to have saved him.

'Now, what am I supposed to do?', he thought to himself.

"What am I supposed to do?", he said.

"What am I supposed to do!", he cried.

He would redeem himself for not reaching Sam in time. He would make himself worthy of his father's sacrifice. And he would save his brother, this time.

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He kneeled down, into the mud, and held his brother in his arms under the night sky. Reaching around, to pull him closer, he felt the slick, warm spot on Sam's back. He could almost measure the length of the knife blade into the skin, into his spine. Dean's head was pounding as he screamed his brother's name.

Sam was awakened by the heartbreaking sound of his brother's voice calling his name. In almost one motion, he swiftly rolled over to reach for his gun and sprang to his feet in order to attack whatever was responsible for Dean's distress.

Sam froze as he realized that they were alone. He could see Dean's silhouette. He was sitting up, arms bent, his elbows close to his body with his forehead resting in his hands.

Sam watched as Dean ran his hands through his hair, lifting his head as he released a long audible breath. His hands continued their arc until they returned to either side of his face. Then he stopped moving.

Sam waited but his brother kept still, aside from the expansion of his chest, which assured Sam that Dean was still breathing.

Finally, Dean's hands fell from his face and he turned his head. Upon seeing Sam's empty bed, he started, his muscles tightening. It was then that he heard Sam softly speak his name. He spun his head toward the sound.

Sam raised his shoulders and held his arms open, to question, to comfort? He felt helpless and confused. Dean watched as Sam squinted and wrinkled his brow, silently asking his questions.

Dean closed his eyes and all the tightness drained from his body. He could now feel the points of pressure made by the fingers of his right hand in his thigh, as well as, the pinch of the fingernails of his left hand into his palm from his tight grasp of the bed sheets. He relaxed his hands.

He felt his head begin to clear as he realized he was now awake and Sam was there with him, alive. He knew Sam would want an explanation and he deserved one. This wasn't the first time Dean had awakened him like this but, it was the worst.

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He never told Sam about the premonition or whatever it was Andy sent him along with the image of the bell.

He hadn't told Bobby, at the time, hoping it was just a fear he had imagined from not knowing.

He never told Sam that he had come to Cold Oak, unknowingly, already aware that Jake was preparing to slice through his spinal cord.

He knew and didn't save Sam. He could never say this out loud to anyone. And he never told anyone about the nightmares.

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Sam watched as Dean slowly climbed out of bed and almost mechanically walked out of the room. He quietly shut the door behind him.

On his way down the hall, Dean saw the light from Bobby's bedroom through the partially opened door. He stuck his head in afraid he had disturbed him and saw that he was slowly getting out of bed.

Bobby looked up as a shadow crossed his sight. "Dean?"

"Sorry, Bobby. Everything's okay. Go back to sleep."

Not immediately, he swings his feet back under the covers and reaching for the bedside lamp, he mutters, "Okay, huh? Not by a longshot."

He thought back to that recent afternoon when Dean showed up with Sam.

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As the front door opened, Dean forced his emotions toward the joy of having Sam with him. He pushed the anxiety and fear away. But as soon as Bobby saw his face, and Sam, his resolve grew weak. Without words, Dean pleaded not to be exposed. He needed to protect Sam; let him believe that Bobby had worked this miracle.

Bobby had been furious when he finally got Dean to admit to his deal. He could never understand the way Dean's mind worked. How could he think so little of himself and have no measure of his own worth. So, John had sacrificed himself. That's what parents do for their children.

His heart ached as he looked into those green eyes, surrounded in red from tears. Dean felt his value was in giving his life for his brother and thought he deserved to be dead. Bobby's love for this young man was immeasurable but still not enough to save him.

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Dean splashed cold water on his face as he stared at himself in the mirror. He reached for the towel, all the time, trying to decide what to tell Sam.

Sam sat on the end of his bed. He felt deflated. Dean was suffering and Sam blamed himself. His brother was going to hell for him because he was too naive, too trusting, too good to kill Jake.

Sam slowly raised his head at the sound of Dean opening the door. Still unsure of what would happen, Dean looked at Sam and the word that came to him was 'dejected'. This wasn't what he wanted.

"I'm sorry." Dean said.

Again, Sam twisted his face. Before he could speak, Dean raised his hand and cleared his throat signaling that he was not done.

Sam ignored Dean's signal. "What's going on?"

He watched as Dean walked toward his own bed. He sat before he spoke, looking straight ahead while Sam continued to look at him.

"It's nothing, Sam. It was just a night…"

"Don't!" Sam snapped. "Don't tell me it was just a nightmare. I know nightmares. What the hell is going on, Dean?"

"Sam, please." He couldn't find any other words.

The demon was dead. Sam made the only connection he could. "Is it some kind of backlash from…" He stopped himself, not wanting to say the words out loud.

Dean slowly shook his head. The silence between them grew painful. Each man felt responsible yet powerless.

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Inside, Sam was on fire. He wanted to grab his brother and shake him. He wanted to beat the daylights out of him or someone. How many times was he supposed to watch Dean throw himself away like trash because he felt less valuable and unworthy.

He knew his anger wasn't at Dean, not directly. All his life he had put himself behind Sam. Protecting Sam, guiding Sam, teaching Sam, saving Sam. This would be the end of that.

Sam would save Dean

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Dean was joking about going to Reno or some other ridiculous place when Sam suggested they see a hoodoo priestess to get him out of his deal.

No, he had told him. He wouldn't let Sam do anything. If you try anything, you die, Dean had said. He couldn't understand how Dean could make that deal. He told him he was selfish.

He said he was okay with that. "I screwed it up once and got you killed; I won't let that happen again."

"Dean, you didn't know what would happen."

He turned away from Sam. He brought his hand up and rubbed his eyes, then dragged his palm down his face until it covered his mouth as if this might stop the words from coming out.

Sam said his brother's name, in a question. They both stood so still, even the motion of their breathing was almost unnoticeable.

Dean hung his head as he dropped his hand. He took one large breath in and blew it out forcibly before turning to face Sam.

Sam matched his brother's expression. He pressed his lips together and wrinkled his brow. His big breath entered and exited through his nostrils.

Dean wanted to tell him everything. It wasn't going to hell that woke him up at night. He was resigned to that. It was a fit price to pay for not saving Sam when he knew what was coming.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx One year later

He kneeled down, into the mud, and held his brother in his arms under the night sky. Reaching around, to pull him closer, he felt the slick, warm spot on Sam's back. He could almost measure the length of the knife blade into the skin, into his spine. Dean's head was pounding as he screamed his brother's name.

Dean's eyes shot open. He barely felt the hooks and chains that tore at his flesh. He could hardly identify the anguish at the realization of where he was and how he got there. He could handle the physical pain as long as he remembered that Sam was alive.

But that wasn't enough. Hell was worse than that. Whenever, the physical abuse was halted and he tried to compose himself, from somewhere, the nightmare came back again, and again. This was the real torture.

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Let them all think what they want about Dean's deal. That he was pitiful and scared and needy. It was none of that. It was guilt that drove Dean to the crossroads.


End file.
